


i lose you in degrees

by bloodcookie



Category: Blur (Band), Britpop - Fandom, Oasis (Band)
Genre: 1990s, Bisexuality, Drabble, F/M, M/M, Slight Internalised Homophobia, Vignette
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:00:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27995679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodcookie/pseuds/bloodcookie
Summary: Three stepping stones to Damon’s realisation.
Relationships: Damon Albarn/Graham Coxon, Damon Albarn/Justine Frischmann, Damon Albarn/Liam Gallagher
Comments: 21
Kudos: 48





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is appreciated. Enjoy!

Damon likes Justine.

If anyone asked him, that’s what he’d say. She’s his girlfriend, they’re the Darlings Of Britpop, and he likes her, thank you very much. It doesn’t matter if she might not be his ideal type, or if she prefers guys who can drive and last longer than four minutes, or if they’re both astrologically unsuited according to Donna. They get on and have a laugh and he likes seeing her without her clothes off. Everything’s fine.

”You only like her ‘cos she looks like a lad,” Alex says one day at rehearsals, lighting up a cigarette. Damon sits on an amp, own cigarette between his fingers, staring pointedly at the lighter in his bassist’s hand. He bristles at this clearly false accusation.

”I do not. And besides, she’s perfectly feminine.”

Alex takes a drag, that stupid smirk crossing his chiseled features. “Yeah, she looks just like me. But with some fantastically weighty tits.”

Damon lashes an arm out to slap his leg and he elegantly dodges it, tossing him the lighter. It lands on the carpet at Damon’s feet.

He ponders as he lit up. Justine does look a bit masculine, that was for sure. She had short cropped hair, and always wore her crumpled black clothes. The only time he’d seen her in a dress or makeup was for some photoshoot, and she’d came home from it fuming about how irritating she’d found the whole event. She smelled like cigarettes and bar soap, and drank beer and swore loudly and was a mean shot at pool.

”She’s just... she’s just independent,” Damon fumbles, swallowing. “She wants to wear dresses, for christ’s sake. Some Japanese interviewer commented on it and she took me round Marks’ looking for a frock. It’s in her cupboard.” He jutted his chin at Alex, who raised an eyebrow.

”She looks like Graham. Or me. Or Liam. Or Jarvis. Face it, Damon, you want it up the arse.”

”Fuck off, Alex. You’re here to play your fucking bass, not be Freud.”

He gets in from rehearsal to Justine curled up on the sofa. She’s reading an old issue of Melody Maker, cup of tea across from her. He briefly imagines her dressed like a 50s housewife, greeting him with a lipstick print on the cheek.

”Hi love,” she says, voice husky from smoking, and he smiles wanly at her.

”Hey.” He gives her a kiss on the cheek, shrugging off his jacket. Like he’s the wife. “How was your day?”

”Oh, boring. Went to Tesco, chased off some girl who wanted your autograph, made toast, took a walk. Nothing, really. Yours?”

”Oh, just rehearsal,” he replies, flopping onto the sofa next to her. “Ran through a few songs, gave Alex a kick up the arse.”

Justine grins, a dimple forming in her cheek. It gives him a warm feeling in his tummy as he reaches for the TV remote, watching as the screen stutters into life and some music channel comes on. They’re showing an Oasis performance as part of a live block.

”Ugh, fucking Liam,” Justine sighs in irritation. They read an incredulous trivia popup - _Did you know Liam was voted most attractive frontman by a Swedish girls’ magazine?!_

Justine snorts. “Most attractive my arse. He looks like he needs a bloody bath and a clean shirt.”

Damon is silent, staring at the screen as a closeup of Liam flicks on. He can see the appeal. Liam has big blue eyes, and long lashes, and his skin looks smooth and soft. Like a girl. Even when he’s been slagging Damon off, Damon found his confidence and sheer bravado mildly endearing. He’s a lighter, ballsier version of Justine. He squeezes his eyes shut as Alex’s words from earlier ring in his ears.

”Damon?” Justine snaps him back to Earth.

”Oh, sorry. Yeah, he’s a total minger. You’d make a more attractive frontman than him,” he replies cheekily, although his heart is skipping beats at that closeup.

Justine snorts, punching him on the arm. “Cheers. Put something else on before I puke on the set. I’m gonna make another cuppa.” She picks up her mug and wanders over to the doorway. “Want one?”

”Oh, yeah please,” he replies, smiling. She winks at him and walks out to the kitchen, and he hears the kettle flick on and begin to bubble. Damon flicks the channel over to some TV show, and leans back into the sofa cushions. He glances to the copy of Melody Maker, Brett Anderson’s pixie face staring back at him. He thinks of Liam and swallows.

He loves Justine. And it’s most certainly not because she looks like a guy. Or acts like a guy. Or is as close as he can get to being with a guy without being with a guy.

Is it?


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for such a long wait, i’ve been pretty busy and lockdown depression was hitting hard :’) i hope you all enjoy this chapter!!
> 
> btw i didn’t have a timeframe in mind when writing this. i’d say 1995 maybe? so they’re preparing to record the great escape.

Damon stares into space as the band chatter around him, the sound of tune-ups and test beats filling his ears. His cigarette is starting to ash on his denim-clad knee as his mind wanders. He’d stayed up last night after Justine went to bed early because of a headache, staring out the window and drinking tea as the TV droned quietly in the background. He’d rested his chin on his knee and thought about Liam and finally joined Justine, now fast asleep, at 2AM. When he’d woke up next to her that morning to leave for practice, he’d looked at her and wondered how she could look so beautiful sleeping. Her skin was smooth and flushed from the heat of the bed, her hair mussed around her face. He’d gently kissed her forehead and pottered around the house, drinking a cup of tea and munching on a slice of toast as he left to go to practice. He’d thought about it all as he’d walked up. He was still thinking about it now.

Damon lifts his cigarette to his lips robotically, taking a drag. Maybe he’s fully gay. Maybe he’s straight and just likes boys to be girls. Maybe he’s like Brett, and he’s a bisexual man who’s never had a homosexual experience, or whatever pretentious muck he’d said. He rolls the thoughts around in his head, until a tap on his shoulder rouses him. He turns around to face Graham.

”You alright?” the guitarist asks quietly.

Damon blinks rapidly, his brain catching up with his expression. He nods, breaking into an easy smile. “Yeah, yeah. Just thinking about Justine, that’s all.”

”Damon and Justine, sittin’ in a tree...” Alex sing-songs, and Damon turns to glare at him.

”What are you, five?”

”I feel like I’m fifty with how long I’ve been standing around for. Can we do something?”

”Well, I guess so, since you’re showing a rare desire to do something other than sit on your arse,” Damon replies, ashing his cigarette. He stands up and stretches, bending down to plug the mic in as the others run through some last-minute tune-ups. ”Alright. I’ll count us in...”

* * *

Practice goes smoothly, aside from a minor incident where Alex snapped a bass string, and they agree to start recording some kind of demo in a week. Alex and Dave pack up their instruments and leave, and Damon sits around with Graham, watching him clean his guitar as he tidies away any extra cables. Graham has the body of his instrument laid across his thighs as he polishes it with a cloth, and Damon looks at the way the muscles flex in his arm as he moves back and forth. His typical frown of concentration graces his features, and Damon realises that he’s actually quite pretty. Maybe even as pretty as him.

”Does it ever make you jealous that I win all those teen magazine polls?” he blurts out suddenly, and cringes inwardly when Graham looks up.

”Teen magazine polls?” Graham replies, pushing his glasses up his nose.

”Like the stupid ones. Dishiest frontman, or whatever.”

Graham looks at him blankly. “Not really. You know how I feel about the fans,” he replies, and goes back to polishing his guitar. He puts the cloth down after a final sweep and checks the strings, before putting it back in its case. He reaches into his pocket and flips open his cigarette pack, swearing as he realises its empty.

”Oh, I’ve got one,” Damon says, and fumbles in his pocket, loping over to squeeze next to Graham on the broken couch. “Let me-“

Graham turns his head towards him and Damon pops the cigarette in the guitarist’s mouth, fingertips briefly brushing his chapped lips. He laughs awkwardly, flicking up the flame on his lighter and cupping his hand around the small blob of heat until a thin wave of smoke rises from the end of the cigarette. Graham nods in thanks, and Damon sees a light flush on his cheeks as he pulls away.

There’s a silence between them as smoke melts into the air. Damon pretends to check his nails, and Graham clears his throat quietly.

”You know,” he begins, and Damon turns to face him. “If there’s anything bothering you, you can say.”

”Oh, no, I’m okay!” Damon says brightly, trying to hide the lie. Graham eyes him intensely.

”No you’re not,” he replies softly. “What’s up?”

Damon hates how intuitive he can be sometimes. He wriggles around.

”I just feel a bit weird about me and Justine,” he says finally. ”Have... have you ever had that thing where you love someone, but you don’t _love_ them?”

Graham nods. “Unfortunately.”

”Whenever I see her in the morning, my heart is full of love. She’s funny, blindingly hot, talented, all that. But... I doubt myself.”

“You don’t think you’re a good enough boyfriend?”

”I don’t think I want to be her boyfriend,” Damon replies, and claps his hand over his mouth the second the words leave his mouth.

Graham stares at him and laughs quietly. “Is this cause of what you told me about her stealing the covers?”

Damon rolls his eyes. ”I’m serious, Graham. I... I think I’m in love with-“ The words stick in his throat, and he wills them up. “...a boy.”

Graham’s eyebrows raise microscopically as he watches Damon sink even further into the broken sofa. He ashes his cigarette on the table and turns towards his bandmate.

”Kiss me,” he says, and Damon’s head whips around like he’s been shot.

”What?”

”Kiss me. Then you can see if you’re into men or if it’s just some entertaining fantasy thing.”

Damon looks at him with eyes like saucers. Graham laughs, slightly wheezy from the cigarette.

”Jesus! It’s not a problem. I’d rather you figure this out than agonise over it every practice. It can just be a little... peck or whatever.”

Damon wriggles upwards and turns towards him, taking a breath in and exhaling like he’s about to climb a mountain. He looks at Graham with a serious stare. “Have you brushed your teeth?”

”Oh, fucking- ‘course I have, you twat. Do you want me to pop a few Tic-Tacs in front of you?”

Damon smirks. “I believe you. Okay, let’s- let’s do this.”

Graham closes his eyes expectantly, and Damon takes a moment to admire his lashes before darting forwards and smooching his mouth.

Graham opens his eyes. “That wasn’t a kiss.”

”Bloody was.”

“That was the most dry kiss I’ve ever experienced, and I’ve kissed people in the middle of summer. Do it _properly_. Look, just-“

Graham huffs and grabs Damon’s shirt, tugging him in and kissing him properly. He’s a good kisser. Damon feels his head swim and something deep in him clicks, almost. He loves it when he kisses Justine, but this feels... electric. Like the kisses they sing about on the radio. He pokes his tongue in Graham’s mouth and moves it around, enjoying the taste of the guitarist’s chapstick. He hears Graham gag and they suddenly snap apart, the brunette coughing.

”Jesus!” he chokes. “Don’t do that!”

“What?! What do you mean?”

”Move your tongue like that, you knob! It’s like a washing machine!”

Damon pouts petulantly. “Justine doesn’t mind it.”

”Yeah, well, she’s probably too polite to say anything. Christ,” Graham coughs and takes off his glasses to clean them on his shirt, putting them on with a wrinkle of his nose. “So. How do you feel now?”

Damon wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and ponders. “Better. It felt... I felt at home with that kiss. I feel at home kissing Justine too, but that’s- it felt like something I didn’t know I needed, I s’pose.”

Graham nodded, shrugging. “Well, that’s good. Glad I could help. I’ll make sure to post a letter to every girl’s magazine in England to let them know you’re a horrible kisser.”

Damon punches his thigh. “Bastard.”

Graham smiles, standing up and grabbing his guitar case. “Come on. Let’s go. I need to get back and have a nap. My head’s killing me after that racket of a practice.”

He grabs Damon’s hand to pull him up, and doesn’t stop holding it until they part at the tube station.


End file.
